


Bipolar Mania and You!: It's Awful, Don't Have It

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bipolar Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drastic measures are a part of war. Everyone knows that. The problem, as far as Han'Gerrel is concerned, is that usually, "drastic measures" don't involve going against medical advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bipolar Mania and You!: It's Awful, Don't Have It

Gerrel turned the syringe over and over in his hand, looking at the clear fluid inside that held the key to his mental stability.

Keelah, he didn’t want to take it.

He could feel the back of his skull prickling, a precursor to the raging crackle that would be a constant until the mania had run its course. If he took his medication, it would fade away, leaving him in the weird limbo of never quite depressed, never quite manic, always drifting somewhere in-between.

Given they were preparing for war, that wasn’t what he needed.

If he timed it right, he could go off his medication, the mania would surge and hit its peak just when he needed it, and as it started winding down he could go back on before depression could take its place- or, worse, anyone could find out he’d stopped medicating. That would be a disaster and a half.

He wasn’t supposed to go off. His husband would get mad at him. His doctor, his mother, his friends, the other admirals, everyone would get mad at him. He didn’t want that.

But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have the energy, or the reaction time, or the thought speed necessary for war, and they all might die. And he wanted that even less.

He gritted his teeth and pulled out the space in the wall where he always put used syringes after he took his medication, put his hand over it, and squeezed the syringe until it shattered, armor protecting his hand as shards of glass and drops of medicated liquid fell.

* * *

 

He hadn’t felt this alive since his Pilgrimage.

The electricity was crackling at full strength and had been for a while. He couldn’t remember a peak lasting this long. Maybe it was the war. Something something something stress agitating the mania. Whatever. He didn’t care. It wasn’t important.

He couldn’t sit still. He was always pacing, pacing, never quite stopping, always needing to be on his feet and moving. He wasn’t sleeping very much, but who needed sleep? There were more important things to be done.

His husband was suspicious. That much was obvious. He kept looking at him too long, asking a few too many questions when they got time to talk.

He kept him busy with helping manage the marines and the Fleet. The more he had to focus on, the less he’d want to fuss over him and possibly find out.

He’d figure it out eventually, of course. He was too smart to be fooled for long. But eventually wasn’t right now, and he’d be fine if he could just make sure “eventually” lasted to the end of the war.

* * *

 

He thought he might have given himself away when he listened to the impulse to fire on the dreadnought before Shepard and company had made it out, but Xala and Raan and the others nodded and said it was a sound strategy. Not smart, but tactically sound. He was safe.

For now.

* * *

 

“I know you’re off your medication.”

Gerrel froze mid-step as he was leaving the board meeting, feeling his blood run cold as Xen’s footsteps sounded behind him. Shitshitshitbadbadbad he was _so_ fucked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bluffed, doing his best to relax his shoulders as he turned to face her.

“Don’t try to lie, we both know it’s true. You went off your medication, and-”

“Shh!” he hissed, lunging forward to clap a hand over her speaker. She was loud too loud Mum would hear she’d find out he’d get in trouble he’d lose his high-

Xen, he remembered a split-second too late, _hated_ being touched. She shoved him off with enough force to send him stumbling, though he managed to catch himself before falling. “Don’t you _ever_ touch me,” she all but snarled, roughly brushing herself off.

“Sorry,” he muttered, raising his hands in apology. Then he shook his head. “Just keep it down, would you? If Raan hears-”

“Yes, yes, I know exactly what will happen if Shala’Raan finds out, don’t try to play your sob story cards. There’s no need to fuss, I’ve no interest in whatever idiotic plans you have.”

He snorted to himself. “Really, now. I know you, you wouldn’t bring this up unless you wanted something.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “All I ask is that you at least try to rein in your destructive tendencies and leave more for Special Projects to salvage. There’s a lot of valuable technology in the ships the Heavy Fleet has been destroying, technology we could be using to gain the upper hand against the geth. But in order to _use_ it, it has to _not be in microscopic pieces_ , _Han’Gerrel._ ”

He scowled and folded his arms, mirroring her posture. “So you’re blackmailing me for science.”

“In layman’s terms, I suppose, yes.”

Damn it. _Think, stupid_. Had to be a way out of this, had to be something he could use- “You’re abusing stims again, aren’t you?” he blurted out. _No, dumbass_ , that couldn’t be right, just because she’d done it before-

Wait. She’d stiffened. Just for half a second, but she’d stiffened. Ancestors bless manic attention to detail. He was right? Shit, he’d go for it. “Ha!” he crowed, “I knew it!”

She sniffed. “Did not. Just because-”

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t try to weasel your way out of this one, _Daro_ , I saw what I saw and I know what I saw. You’re abusing stims again. Come clean or I tell Raan.”

She stiffened. “Don’t call me Daro. Only my mother is allowed to call me that.”

He grinned wickedly behind his visor. Now _he_ had the upper hand. “Let’s cut a deal. I don’t tell Raan about your stim abuse, _you_ don’t tell her about my medication, and the Heavy Fleet will try to leave you bigger pieces for your research in trade for more of those stockpiles of non-shit MREs we both know you have.”

She considered this, then nodded. “Deal.”

He offered his hand, she shook it, and they ran for the shuttles back to their respective ships before any of the others could ask why they were loitering.

* * *

 

The _Tonbay_ had gone down.

The _Tonbay_ was down, the base on Rannoch had a Reaper on it, and everything was going to shit.

Gerrel’s head felt fit to burst with the electricity furiously beating against the inside of his skull, now all over the cavity rather than just the back. The comm specialists were trying to get through to the Tonbay survivors, trying to find out if his mother was among them. They were asking for Admiral Raan but all the mania could think of was _no, that’s not her name, her name is Mum, stop it, stop it, STOP IT, YOU’RE WRONG YOU’RE WRONG YOU’RE_ -

Shepard was on the comm something about the geth something wrong something bad bad bad very bad everything was too loud too loud make it stop if he killed it it would stop things stopped when they died kill it kill it KILL IT MAKE IT STOP

why did shepard keep talking too much talking too much noise bad bad bad he just wanted everything to be okay just stop talking

who did tali think she was anyway not rael not rael wrong zorah not good enough rude unsuited for authority too young too inexperienced wrong zorah

“ _Han!_ ”

His husband’s voice broke through the fog and the electricity. Xala. Focus on Xala. He could do that.

“Han, _please_ ,” Xala was saying, “call a cease-fire, Han, I’m _begging_ you, _please_ don’t do this!”

His words cut through the mania’s remaining tendrils, and he stared at him in dawning horror. _keelah what have i done_

As he called the cease-fire, he saw realization grow in Xala’s eyes, and his heart sank into his stomach.

He’d failed.

* * *

 

Xala found him in their cubicle the next day. He had his back to the doorway, staring dully at the wall and picking at a loose thread in the quilt under him. He’d taken his helmet off. Most of his armor, actually. He needed the room to breathe.

He felt the blankets sink down behind him, and a hand start running over the short fuzz he had for hair. “Your mother’s alive,” Xala said gently. “She and Koris are taking care of moving everyone who needs the shelter onto Rannoch. I’ve asked her to take care of Keeto while we stay with the _Neema_. Tali’Zorah went back to the _Normandy_ with Shepard.”

He grunted, and Xala sighed. “I know you’re not Tali’s biggest fan after the things she said to you and Xen, but right now, you’ll have to put up with communicating with her. I’ll talk to her for you until you’ve recovered.”

He flinched slightly. Xala was quiet for a moment, then sighed again. “Han, why did you go off your medication? You know you need it.”

He didn’t look up. “I didn’t want to die.”

“We almost did.”

He shook his head slightly. “You don’t get it.”

“But I’m trying to. I’m your husband, Han, it’s what I do. Through thick and thin, and all that. Ancestors know it hasn’t been easy recently, but I’m trying.”

He stayed silent, and Xala added a very quiet, “Please.”

He hesitated, then puffed out a small sigh. “I wanted to feel so alive I wouldn’t be afraid of dying.”

They sat in silence for what felt like ages, then Xala trailed his hand from Gerrel’s scalp to his hand and clutched it tight. “I’m sorry, Han. I should have… I don’t know, but I should have helped somehow.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You didn’t know.”

Xala sucked in a shaky breath, and Gerrel felt a distant prick of remorse. Xala only sounded like that when he was trying not to cry. “What did you do with the medication?”

“Bottom drawer. Under the blankets we don’t use.”

“I’ll take care of them later. I want you to come see me before bed each night, alright? I’ll administer the meds myself so you can’t go off again.”

“Fine.”

He heard movement, then a familiar little pop of a syringe cap. He shut his eyes just as the prick at the injection port on his upper arm came, and let out a shaky breath as the medication was slowly pushed in.

After a moment, Xala pulled the needle out, and smoothed the fuzz on his head. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.”

Gerrel hummed in acknowledgement, then turned his head to see Xala getting to his feet. “Wait, Xala-!”

Xala paused, then looked down at him, eyes looking distinctly watery and smudged through the visor. Gerrel felt a lump in his throat at the thought of making him cry, but swallowed it down and managed a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Xala regarded him, then nodded faintly, moving to kneel and pull him up into a hug. “I know, Han.”

“Keelah, I’m so sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> The change in characterization for Gerrel between ME2 and ME3 always struck me as a terrible case of butchering, flanderization, and a result of the overall not-good writing for ME3 in general. Of course, there had to be a reason in-universe, and the more I thought about it, the more I recognized my own symptoms as a bipolar type I person in Gerrel's behavior; if we assume an apathetic depressive episode during ME2 (thus why he doesn't recuse himself for a trial involving his best friend's death), a manic episode is perfectly reasonable for ME3, thus how highly rash and impulsive Gerrel acts when the set rules of the Mass Effect universe dictate he should be far more intelligent than that.


End file.
